


An Eyeful of Gerry Keay

by pragmaticArtificer



Series: Eye of the Beholder [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: AU Jon doesn't burn Gerry's page and Gerry is mad about it, AU where the Catalogue of the Trapped Dead is not a part of the End, Asexual Jon Flavor: Demi/grey, But I'm too American to care about fixing it, Elias Bouchard Being Elias Bouchard, Exhibitionism, He can experience urges but not usually for others, I apologize in advance for the horrible mix of American/British English, M/M, Major Spoilers, Masturbation, Mentioned Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas - Freeform, Other, Piercings, Pining Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sometimes you need to make your own food, They're married at the moment, Voyeurism, We love and appreciate Gerry in this house, implied Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pragmaticArtificer/pseuds/pragmaticArtificer
Summary: Jon couldn't bring himself to burn that cursed piece of parchment that bound Gerard Keay to the mortal plane, even if it would allow Gerry to finally be free. Some unexpected consequences of keeping that page within the Eye's domain for an extended period grants Gerry a bit of (debatable) agency and he proceeds to make a mess of and in the Archive.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Eye of the Beholder [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051763
Kudos: 45





	An Eyeful of Gerry Keay

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @lyssakaz3 on twitter for being an excellent beta. And introducing me to TMA. And for encouraging all of this.
> 
> This started as a spin off of a bad sketch of mine and has grown into a monster. If I'm able to finish the other parts, this fic will have sequels/a continuing overarching plot.
> 
> Cis Jon and Cis Gerry with dick, cock, balls used to describe genitals. 
> 
> I haven't published my own fic on this platform before and definitely not for this fandom so please be kind as I learn the ropes.
> 
> I have been on team Gerry Keay since I listened to MAG4 and I cannot be stopped. 
> 
> I apologize for heavily projecting onto both of these characters. Hopefully you can still enjoy this for what it is- a self-indulgent exhibitionist flavored wank fic.
> 
> CW:  
> Non-con/Dubcon  
> Suicide/Assisted Suicide mention  
> Eye trauma mention  
> Detailed content warnings in end notes.

”I thought we had a deal, Archivist."

Jon started in his seat at the sudden interruption, before sighing and rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. "Gerry, Christ, I didn't know you could do that."

Gerard Keay sat on Jon's desk, on top of the stack of statements that kept his page hidden. He looked the same as he had when Jon had summoned him all those months ago; all ghostly white pallor that was only broken up by eye tattoos and burn scars below his neck which only emphasized his dark clothing and long dark hair, the latter of which was pulled away from his face by a messy ponytail. "You and me both. Too bad for you. Seems that when I'm in the domain of the Watcher, my page is always read." Reaching down, Gerry touched his chest over his dark t-shirt. "Guess Gertrude didn't pick a piece of skin with my hamsa tattoo. Figures."

Jon stared at Gerard, mouth agape. "You're serious? A hamsa tattoo? How would that even work when-”

"The Eye can see through any eye I know," Gerry rolled his own, phantasmic though they may be. "It was worth a shot. Seemed to mostly work, even if it was just a placebo." Then he laughed. "Until I got the rest." Eye tattoos covered every visible joint that Jon could see, and he imagined there were more he couldn't see.

Jon let himself fall back into his chair, head hanging over the top a bit as he tilted his head to stare at the ceiling. The old leather and wood of his chair creaked, warning him that one day it would fall apart beneath him. "It wouldn't have helped hide you here, but lucky for you, Elias is currently chained up in a prison cell so it doesn't matter much."

"Kinky," Gerard remarked, drawing a sputtering, indignant squawk from Jon. The sound inspired a wicked grin as Gerry continued, "If he was here he'd probably just burn me up like I want anyway, so I would say I'm actually unlucky in this instance."

Jon drew his hands down his face again. "Look, I-” he cut himself off with a sigh. "I'm going to keep my promise. I just need time." He glared at Gerry over his glasses. "It's not like I was the one to summon you this time. You managed that all on your own."

Gerry snorted. "Yeah, I did," he seethed. "Funny how I can still be summoned to this mortal plane, like I'm still bound to a piece of my own ritually flayed skin."

"Gerard, please!” Jon interrupted him, sitting back up in his seat. "Stop. Just stop, okay?" He flinched when Gerard stilled as soon as Jon had uttered the word stop. When he could meet Gerry's eyes again, the ethereal absinthe pools were dripping poison in the dim glow of the green glass desk lamp.

"Already pissed enough to use your powers on me, Archivist?" Gerry spoke quietly, voice soft but words dangerously articulated.

Jon held up his hands in surrender. "I didn't mean-"

"Of course you didn't." The glint in Gerry's eyes changed from angry bludgeon to something more precise; a scalpel to vivisect him with. "You're still so new to all of your monstrous power that you can't control it." He paused, weighing Jon's reaction. "Or is it that you can't help yourself from using it whenever you get the chance?" He tsked, shaking his finger at Jon. "That power is a dangerous fire to play with. It's heady, but liable to burn you in the end."

Jon immediately bristled, but quickly forced himself to relax with a sigh. "I know what you're trying to do, Gerry, and it's not going to work. I'm not going to- I'm not releasing you like that, like this-" he replied as he gestured to everything that was Gerard Keay in his lanky glory. "Especially not when you're still present. That would just be-" He shook his head and looked down. "I couldn't."

Now it was Gerry's turn to tilt his head back and sigh. "Right, right, whatever. Burn my page after I disappear again." He wiggled his fingers and gave his best spooky ghost wail.

They matched gazes for a moment, Gerry's unnaturally black hair falling over his shoulder. "You do know that I'm still aware even if you can't see me, right?"

Jon started at Gerry's words, making the other man laugh.

"I mean, it's not like I'm constantly hovering around like an invisible cartoon ghost or anything. My senses are even worse when I'm not active, but I'm still vaguely aware of stuff." He blew a piece of hair out of his face. "It's impossible to describe; it's worse than what it's like in this," he gestured to himself, "form, and," noticing Jon open his mouth, "yes still painful, so no, it's not any better."

Jon let out another exasperated "Christ," as he settled back in his seat.

"Good." Gerry gave Jon a critical once over. "You really do look like shit. That worried over your little Martin shacking up with the Loneliest prick in the universe?" Jon sputtered again, to Gerry's delight.

"Don't put it like that! Jesus." Jon smoothed back a bit of fringe before tugging at it, the silver and black strands frayed between his fingers. " It's not like they're-"

"Shagging?" Gerry supplied helpfully. "Honestly that's probably a better option than what's actually going on. Though, maybe they're fucking too. I wouldn't know." He smirked at Jon again. "You could, though. Know."

Jon let out an exasperated yell, rubbing his eyes and tearing at his hair, trying to keep the headache Gerry was determined to smite him with.

Gerry himself simply smirked and kicked his booted heels against the antique wood desk, though it didn't make a sound. He let Jon stew for a moment before piping up with a, "it's not like you were taking care of his needs before all this, too busy with your head up your own ass to see-"

Jon huffed. "That is quite enough." Though he fought to keep the compulsion out of his words, Gerry still went silent, simply giving Jon that maddening Cheshire grin. "Look. It's not about that and you know it. You're just trying to rile me up so I burn your page in a fit of pique."

"Did you have to Know to figure that out?" Gerry taunted.

Jon ignored the bait this time. "I gave you my word, and I meant it. I mean it now too." His voice softened. "We've barely talked to each other but it feels like I've known you for some time. Not like that," he amended quickly, seeing Gerry's expression change. "Or, perhaps it's just that I've wanted to know you, after reading about you in statement after statement. And I'm not ready, I don't want to give that up. It's entirely selfish, I know."

Gerry's smirk softened as well. "You're far too sentimental for your own good, Archivist. Far more than Gertrude ever was. It's going to get you killed much earlier into your tenure."

Jon sighed. "I know," he admitted, words barely above a whisper.

The heated staredown cooled to a more companionable silence as the two appraised each other. It was Gerry who broke it, his sigh much more theatrical than anything else. 

"Well, don't go dying before you can stop all this madness, at least. And you absolutely aren't allowed to die before you can muster the bullocks to burn me," Gerry scolded.

Jon let out a weak chuckle. "Of course not. I promise to set you free before I go."

"Good."

Jon let his eyes close for a moment, taking in a deep breath after Gerry's concession to gather himself.

As soon as he opened his eyes again, however, that inner peace evaporated.

"Gerry!”

"Hm, what?" Gerard paused in pulling off his shirt, keeping it bunched up just below his pectorals. There was a strange hazy patch where his solar plexus would be. The location of that hamsa tattoo, Jon supposed.

"What do you think you're doing?" He demanded, standing from his chair to stomp up to his desk. Gerry had splayed across his desk, seeming to have actually displaced some of the papers with his presence. Jon frowned.

"The longer we talk, the more I seem to feel," Gerry remarked, causing Jon to raise a brow. "So, I wanted to test something." Gerry pulled his t-shirt off the rest of the way. It disappeared into the moment Gerry dropped it over the side of the desk. To Jon's chagrin, the only thing he could really notice in that moment were the silver steel barbells stuck through Gerard's nipples.

"You like them?" Gerard grinned, reaching up to twirl the piercings in their holes. Jon shuddered, but couldn't look away.

Gerry let his hands drop again and gave Jon that damedable grin. "I got them while on a bender. Can't imagine a reputable piercer doing them when I was piss drunk, but they ended up healing nicely so I just left them. It helps that they felt good to play with."

Jon cradled the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, a reaction that Gerry found he was easily able to garner from Jon.

"And now? What purpose could you possibly have to," Jon bit his lip briefly as he thought of the right word. "Fondle them now."

Gerry tilted his head back for a languid chuckle. "Maybe just to irritate you with my lurid visage," he teased. "Maybe because," he paused, "it feels good now too."

Jon's breath hitched in his lungs. "It, it what?"

"Yeah, I'm surprised too," Gerry said by way of reply. "Definitely not like it used to, from what I can remember. But it definitely feels," he reached up again to give his nippes a squeeze, "like something. Not bad, that's for sure."

"That's wonderful," Jon snapped, "now stop it and put your shirt back on."

Gerry tilted his head, and smirked. "Don't think I will." Jon gaped at him as Gerry slid his hands down his own torso, playing with the dark hair covering his stomach, a finger dipping briefly into his belly button, before reaching the waist of his black skinny jeans.

"Stop this, now," Jon commanded, feeling his words boom with the power of the Eye behind them.

Gerry did indeed stop, though the shiver and the moan he let out were completely unexpected. Jon was left stupefied once more, staring at Gerry with his jaw slack in disbelief.

Gerry, of course, laughed. "Oh that felt interesting, Archivist. Seems like you've been practicing those scary new powers of yours after all. Too bad for you that they don't seem to be working anymore." His hands moved again, undoing the button and fly of his jeans in two quick movements. "At least, not in the way you intended."

Gerry laid back on the desk to pull off his pants, arching his back and lifting his hips in a parody of a bridge pose to free himself from the rest of his clothing. Jon belatedly noticed that Gerry's boots were already missing and that, if Gerry had had underwear on, well, they were gone with his jeans.

As naked in death as he had been in birth, Gerry sighed contentedly. "Much better," he murmured, lowering his hips back down as he kicked the jeans from around his ankles. It sent the rest of the statements flying off Jon's desk, leaving just Gerry's page, Gerry himself, the lamp, and a tape recorder on the desk.

"Oh, hello," Gerry grinned at it, the tape already rolling. "Is someone feeling a bit peckish?" He turned his gaze to Jon. "Looks like you can't stop me now, Archivist."

Before Jon could summon any form of protest, Gerry spoke again. "Statement of Gerard Keay, deceased, given directly by subject posthumously." He licked his lips and watched Jon shudder as the power of the statement gripped them both. He brought a hand to his mouth and licked stripes across his palm and fingers, never taking his gaze from the other man.

"The Catalogue of the Trapped Dead is still a bit of a mystery, all things considered," he began once his hand was sufficiently moistened. He let it drift down, down, all the way to his cock, which had begun to harden from the first brush against his nipples. He gripped himself, squeezing hard only once, before stroking his length with a slow, featherlight touch. "What sick power would allow a human to gain imperfect immortality, trapped in their own skin, for eternity? Mother thought that it might be the Web or perhaps Flesh. After all, parchment is made of Flesh."

He trailed his other hand down to his chest, teasing the skin over his breastbone before gently stroking along to a nipple. He hissed, hips bucking up into his other hand, then let out a low moan as he began to twirl the piercing within its hole.

"It's easier sometimes to eliminate possibilities by establishing what a thing is not. Clearly the Book is not of the Corruption or the Vast. There is a chance it could be of the Lonely; binding someone forever to a page to be read by others who could never truly understand them. Perhaps it's the End, trapping people in their very last moments to endure their deaths on repeat for eternity." The hand on his cock paused over the head, tugging the foreskin down once, letting it spring back slowly, before dipping a finger under its fold to tease himself. 

"But I don't think so. The Lonely would trap its victims within itself and keep them there, not allow them to be summoned outside of it. The End is all about finality, so there's no point in allowing its victims to continue existing." He interrupted himself with a high pitched moan, pinching his nipple and twisting it harshly, even as he traced the crown of his cock with the barest touch.

"Slaughter and War are definite no's, as is the Hunt. The Catalogue of the Trapped Dead isn't about the act of killing, or the thirst for it. It's also definitely not the Buried, which also doesn't allow its victims free, or the Spiral, as my consciousness is clear of madness. There's no aspect of other or transformation, leaving the Stranger out, and preserving anything is the antithesis of the Desolation."

He looked at Jon as he played with the clear beads of pre-cum leaking from his slit, dipping his finger in to wet it, before pulling it as far away from the head as he could while the surface tension still held it together in a thin strand. "So, the Web and the Flesh. Mother's guesses. While parchment could be, in very broad terms, considered a specialized jerky, the process of making it fully eliminates everything that makes it meat and is used for a purpose other than consumption. I also imagine that the souls trapped a book of the Flesh would always be solid when initially summoned." He grinned as the thread of precum finally snapped, then dipped his finger back down for more, spreading the gathered liquid around his sensitive head.

"The Web was Mother's final guess. Keeping someone trapped in their ultimate fate, forever suspended in the moment of their downfall, and existing to be called upon for others trying to avoid that same grisly end," He laughed, finally turning his gaze from Jon to the ceiling, before closing his eyes altogether. "But we both know that's wrong. She knew it too, I'd wager. She just didn't want to admit that she'd be reliant on its power to continue existing, bound to the entity she so hated."

"The Eye," Jon shuddered, his words torn from his throat by the power coursing through him. Heat and chill washed over him in waves as he was affected in equal parts by the statement and Gerry's performance.

"Bingo." Gerry dropped his hand from his chest to the desk, pushing himself up into the position he had been sitting in before, albeit now completely naked and stroking his dick. "The Ceaseless Watcher, the voyeur, forever revelling in the last moments of a person's death, read over and over in it's perfect detail, fear never fading and always fresh so long as a piece of their body still exists." He squeezed himself hard and bucked his hips, letting out a small cry. "Haven't you ever wondered why it was so easy for Gertrude to bind me, Archivist? Why didn't I see it coming when she did her best to keep me from Elias and the Eye while I was still alive?"

He let the questions sink in, lifting the hand that had been on his cock back to his lips to moisten it once more, and to moan as he tasted his own pre-cum. “Perhaps those are questions that you could answer, maybe not. It doesn’t really matter. I’m here, and my pain and fear and entrapment have been feeding the beast that is this Institute and its Eye. And it’s Archivist.” He met Jon’s stare with his own cold gaze. Then he reached back down to stroke himself, much more urgently than before.

“Only now, it might be feeding me in return, empowering a curiosity it owns to watch it struggle further,” Gerry grunted, shifting to hold one bent leg against his chest while the other stretched out over the side of the desk. “And if it saw fit to give me the ability to feel, well, I might as well give you all a show.” His fist tightened, nearly white knuckling, around his cock. He let out breathy moans that were much softer than the squelch of his wet hand as he bucked up into it. 

Gerry eventually gave up on holding one leg to his chest for Jon's visual benefit, dropping his hand to reach between his thigh and ankle to play with something behind his sac. When Gerard noticed Jon’s gaze following the movement, he smirked and stilled his strokes. Instead of reaching beneath it, his other hand lifted his balls for Jon to see.

“Oh God,” Jon choked out, seeing the small barbell pierced through the other man's taint.

Gerry threw his head back and laughed maniacally, stroking himself again as he played with his piercing and balls in turn. “Like it? I got it in a small commune in France,” he joked, cutting himself off with a moan. He bit his lower lip as he forced himself to meet Jon’s eyes once more.

“I avoided the Watcher, tried to, as much as the other powers. Moreso, as I could feel it try to steal me for itself.” He gave himself a pinch, just the tiniest pressure between his thumb and forefinger, on his balls and bucked up harder than before into his hand. “Got several tattoos to try and ward it off without having to take my own eyes out. A Hamsa, a nassar, even,” He laughed, clenching his hand hard around the base of his cock to avoid spilling quite yet. It did not stay still for long. “An ejaculating penis. That’s how the Romans tried to ward it off, you know. If the thing was gonna watch, well, it might as well get a real eye full of blinding semen.”

Jon narrowed his eyes at Gerry. “Is that what you’re attempting to do now?”

Gerard laughed and sped up again. “Honestly, Jon, I’m still trying to piss you off.”

It could have been a few seconds or several minutes after those words, but Gerard’s orgasm hit him like a freight train. He moaned, mewled, and yelled as he continued to stroke himself and tug at his piercing, eyes shut as his toes curled and he felt alive for the first time in years. 

As soon as Jon noticed the first spurt of cum, he lunged for the tape recorder. “Statement ends,” he spat, slamming the stop button and sending the thing flying off to an unknown corner of the room. It was then that he noticed that he had, perhaps, gotten too close to Gerard.

Jon stood over the man sprawled on his desk. Gerry’s hand still worked himself slowly, dragging spit and cum all over his dick. His heavy lidded eyes were on Jon's and his mouth hung open as he panted softly. The force of his breath was enough to tickle Jon’s lips with every one of Gerry’s exhales. It sent a jolt down to where Jon was hard in his pants, erection swelling close to where Gerry was softening. Their gazes raked over each other in that long, silent moment, words finally robbed from them both.

“Sorry about your shirt,” Gerry finally breathed, eyes darting to a spot near the bottom of Jon’s button down. “Didn’t realize you wanted that close of a view for the finale.”

Whatever spell had overcome Jon was overtaken by icy spikes of rage that sprung up along his spine. A few fat globs of milky white cum were already soaking into his shirt, stark against the dark green fabric.

Jon’s hand shot out to grab Gerard by his messy ponytail, hauling him up as the other man protested. “Clothes. Now.”

He didn’t even blink when Gerard’s clothes re-appeared, though Gerry paled. “Look Jon, I-”

“Don’t. Say. Anything.” With his free hand, Jon snatched up the parchment on his desk and thrust it against Gerry’s chest. “Not to me. Save it for explaining this situation to your new co-workers.”

“My new what?” Gerry yelped as Jon dragged him to the door.

“If you’re going to be a more permanent, physical nuisance now, then you should at least make yourself somewhat useful. Otherwise, you’ll really be begging me to burn your page by the time I’m done with you,” Jon hissed. He opened his door and flung Gerry towards the Assistants’ bullpen, pulling the door shut and locking it behind the other man without another word.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Jon muttered at the swinging blinds obscuring his view of the Archives, invoking names he didn’t really believe in. He went to smooth down his shirt and remembered not to just in time to avoid getting a handful of Gerry’s cum. His frown soured further and he began to pull his buttons free from their holes.

“Gerard fucking Keay. Christ.” Jon tossed his shirt into the bin, sitting heavily in his chair, leaving him in his undershirt. He tugged at his hair with one hand while covering his eyes with the other. His legs burned from standing so rigidly, which he attempted to focus on over the other sensations he was feeling below the waist. And stomach. When was the last time he felt so nourished? So full and energized, even with the alien throb of desire in his gut? Desire that would only sour no matter what he did, leaving him to squirm for hours as his arousal slowly ebbed. 

“What the hell am I going to do now?”

Meanwhile

Elias Bouchard's laughter carried through the otherwise empty cell block, his shackles rattling as he shook with mirth. "Oh Jon, what have you gotten yourself into," he spoke into the empty air. "Even Peter isn't half as amusing as that during our little conjugal visits." He wiped away the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "My dear little Archivist, whatever are you going to do next?"

**Author's Note:**

> Detailed CW  
> Suicide/Assisted Suicide - Gerry asking for Jon to burn his page, therefore killing him
> 
> Non-con/dubcon warning for  
> Jon uses the compulsion powers a few times.  
> Gerry experiences physical pleasure after nothing but pain. While he's talking with Jon, he starts testing out what he can feel and ends up whipping it out and having a wank. Jon at one point tells him to stop with his compulsion powers before Gerry takes his own pants off, and Gerry refuses. Gerry also gets pleasure from the failed compulsion attempt/power rush. Gerry turns the situation into a statement, and its implied that Jon can't stop him/he can't stop once the tape is recording  
> The mixture of fear and sex in the statement (which feeds directly into Jon) and situation gives Jon an erection/somewhat unwanted arousal  
> Gerry accidentally gets cum on Jon's shirt.  
> Elias being a creepy voyeur.  
> Implied abuse of power between Peter and Martin.
> 
> Eye Trauma mention- Mention of and joking about getting semen in eyes a la the ancient Roman ward against the evil eye, which is a penis ejaculating into an eye. This is real, and you should read the wiki on the evil eye right now.
> 
> Come talk to me on my twitter- @mxgerrykeay


End file.
